Trouble
by emathews
Summary: MOVED TO AO3 (link in my profile). Ethan writes for his college newspaper and has to interview a very unwilling Sacha.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm ashamed of how excited I am to write this but hey there it is. Before you proceed, here's a list of all the AU names of everyone:

Ethan = Abel

Sacha = Cain (from social-construct's 'Appearances')

Aleks = Deimos (from elisetales' 'Prom Night')

James = Encke (from social-construct's 'After')

Simon = Keeler

Ivan = Praxis

OK I think that's all. Yaaaayyy college AU, here we go.

-EM

Trouble

Chapter One

Ethan blinked at the sound of a palm slapping against the hardwood of the desk right beside him. He tore his gaze away from the computer monitor where he had been cutting down an article—"1,000 words!" his editor had said. "What part of 1,000 words do you not understand?"—to look up at the man in question.

"Simon, relax," Ethan said, turning back to the computer. "I'm at 1,002; I'll have it done before it goes to press."

Simon squinted at the monitor, long fall of his braid resting against his chest. He raised two delicate fingers and adjusted his glasses by the outer corner of one lens, and shook his head. "It's not about that," he said. "I just got an email."

Ethan said, "Oh?" and that was all it took for Simon to launch into a long-winded explanation about the state of his inbox. Ethan caught something about funding and The Office of Minority Affairs before he began to focus his attention back in on his article. He had just found an 'it is' that he could easily change into 'it's' when Simon's hand hit the desk again.

"Ethan!"

Again, Ethan jumped and looked up. "Sorry, sorry, what?"

Sighing, Simon sank into the desk chair beside Ethan. The computer lab was almost completely empty, just a few other people working to get their articles finished on time. In the far corner, Ethan could just barely see the top of Georgia's head bent over the computer. She was always a seat-of-her-pants type of writer; Ethan doubted she had even started her article about the opening football game of the season before she came in today.

"I _said_," Simon emphasized, and Ethan focused in on him once more, "that I got an email from the office of the Dean. They say that the school is losing funding; donors don't think we're diverse enough." He paused to brush a minute speck of lint off the sleeve of his sweater before continuing. "Anyway, since we're such a well-known collegiate newspaper" —Simon drew himself up a bit at that— "the administration thinks that if we write an article about a promising minority student, donors might change their minds."

"All right," said Ethan, "so which student are you going to write about?"

Simon raised his eyebrows and blinked. Then he started to laugh, blond trail of his braid quivering as his shoulders shook. "Ethan; I'm not going to write the article, you are."

"W—what? _Me_?" he said. "But you're the editor-in-chief, and this article sounds really important, you should do it, I shouldn't—"

"Ethan," Simon soothed, laying a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "We both know you're an excellent writer who has written some very interesting articles in the past."

Ethan's eyes flicked to the computer screen where his article about the importance of composting was still waiting to be finished. Simon cleared his throat and drew Ethan's attention again.

"Besides, I'm far too busy, and you have all those connections through the financial aid office…and your father."

Ethan made to respond but Simon kept talking, fingers digging into Ethan's shoulder now.

"Think about what a good impression it would make," he was saying. "The Dean's son writing about the diversity of the student body?"

Ethan bit his lip. "Wouldn't that be a conflict of interest?"

"No," said Simon without missing a beat, eyes wide.

"Well," Ethan said, floundering, "I wouldn't even know who—who I would talk to." A face immediately appeared in his mind's eye, dark and brooding, someone who Ethan had signed into the financial aid office months ago, and Ethan had looked at the sign-in sheet just afterward, just so he could know his name.

"Oh, well no problem!" Simon said, taking a folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket and passing it to Ethan. "I took the liberty of compiling a list of eligible students from the colonies. Take your pick!"

Ethan unfolded the paper and scanned the list before he could help himself. _There, just there—that was him._ "Wait, but Simon—" When he looked up again, Simon was gone, out of the lab.

Ethan slumped back in his seat and caught the eye of Georgia, who had raised her head to peek up over the edge of her monitor. She winked, and then dropped her gaze back down, and a second later Ethan heard the clacking of the keyboard as she started typing again. Ethan hurriedly finished his composting article and sent it to Simon, then he was back to staring at the slip of paper in front of him.

He focused on that fourth name, scrawled in Simon's tiny handwriting, along with a brief description: _Left the colonies two years ago, full-ride, neurobio major._

Ethan licked his lips and turned back to the computer, typing in the email address Simon had copied down for him. After that he paused, unsure how to proceed. He had to remind himself half a dozen times that it was only an email asking for an interview—he wasn't asking the guy out or anything—to get his fingers working properly.

Ethan took a breath and set his fingers to the keyboard, typing out the name that he had been thinking about for months now: Sacha.

#

"He hates me," Ethan groaned, slumping into the booth and taking the beer Simon pushed toward him.

Simon laughed, but when Ethan shot him a sharp look, he abruptly broke off, picking up his own drink.

"Who hates you?" James asked, arm slung around Simon's shoulders, fingers brushing against his collarbone.

"No one," said Simon, giving his boyfriend a wry look. Then to Ethan, he said, "Why don't you just email someone else off the list?"

Ethan just shook his head, waved a hand, and drank more beer.

"I'm lost," said James, frowning at Simon.

"It's nothing," said Ethan before Simon could respond. "I just—I have to interview this…guy from the colonies to show the diversity of the school. I've been trying to set up a meeting with him for two weeks but he keeps ignoring me."

"So talk to someone else," Simon stressed. "You need to finish this article as soon as possible."

"I know," Ethan sighed. "I just…." He trailed off, glancing around the bar. It was James' favorite spot, full of people from the colonies, hidden away on a side street at the edge of campus.

Ethan always felt so out of place here; too clean and put-together, too wealthy and contented. But James liked it and Simon and James were a package deal, and Ethan would be kidding himself if he said he had many other options in friends.

"You into him?" James asked, ice clinking as he took a sip of his scotch.

"What?" Ethan said, almost overturning his beer glass. "No, of course not, I don't even know him."

"Oh my God," said Simon, peering owlishly at Ethan.

"What?" Ethan said again, looking between the two of them. _"What?"_

"Who is it?" said James, thick lips turning up at the corners. "If he's from the colonies, maybe I know him."

"Yeah, what's his name?" said Simon, leaning forward, glasses glinting in the dull light.

Ethan drank more beer, felt it dribble down the front of his shirt but couldn't find the will to dab it away. "I—I'll just find someone else," he said.

Simon and James both laughed, but Ethan ignored them, drinking more beer and trying not to sulk.

"Why don't you meet him in person if he's ignoring your emails?" said Simon eventually, rolling his eyes.

"I…I don't know where to find him," Ethan mumbled.

"If you give me his name…." James said, but Ethan pretended he hadn't heard him, already thinking.

He sipped at his beer and thought about the little he knew about Sacha. He hadn't been into the financial aid office since the last time Ethan had seen him in there, and that was months ago. It was possible he'd be in again soon, but Ethan didn't want to take the chance. He knew that the office would also have Sacha's address on file, but Ethan wasn't allowed to look at those files without permission from his supervisor, and if he were caught, it would jeopardize his job.

"Ethan?"

Both Simon and James were looking at him expectantly. They were both folded into the corner of the booth, Simon leaning heavily against James, both of Simon's hands hidden beneath the table.

"I'm going to go," Ethan said, downing the rest of the beer and standing up.

"You just got here," Simon said with a noticeable lack of indignation.

Ethan sighed and slid out of the booth, quickly putting on his coat. "I'll see you later."

James nodded in his direction, but Simon appeared not to have heard him, too busy turning to skim his lips along the column of James' throat. Ethan wove his way through the crowd, ignoring the probing looks and raised eyebrows, and exited onto the dark street. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned toward his apartment.

The night was cool and cloudy. It was still early on a Friday night and most people were just now heading out to the bars. Ethan walked against the foot traffic up to his complex, letting himself in and checking his mailbox. He flipped through the papers as he shouldered open the door to his apartment, tossing a handful of ads into the trash and tossing his electric bill onto the kitchen table.

In the end, all that was left was a letter from the school. Ethan deposited his coat onto the armchair in the living room and began to unwind his scarf as he ripped open the letter.

He didn't get a chance to look at the note before he felt something rub up against his leg. He looked down at the striped, gray cat winding its way around his ankles, the long tail flicking back and forth.

"Hey, Wolfe," Ethan said, sinking down into the chair and letting the cat jump into his lap.

Wolfe meowed, bright eyes watching Ethan intently until he reached down and scratched him behind the ears. Ethan picked up the letter from the school again, which was announcing the opening of the new library next to the biology lab. Ethan frowned and turned the envelope over, saw that it was post-marked a few weeks ago.

"The bio lab," Ethan muttered, hand pausing on Wolfe's head. The cat had barely looked up before Ethan got to his feet and dislodged him. Wolfe hit the ground with a hiss and bolted to hide under the kitchen table, watching Ethan with yellow eyes.

Ethan walked to his bedroom and grabbed his computer. He looked up the new library on the school website, looked at pictures of the coffee shop, the individual study carols, and took note of the hours. He licked his lips, felt his heart pick up a little. When he climbed into bed, he was still thinking about it. At some point during the night he felt, rather than heard, Wolfe slink into the room and jump up onto the bed beside him.

#

Ethan made his way to the library the next day, swinging past the biology lab and walking slowly past it, glancing into the windows as he went. When a girl inside the building looked up and caught his eye, he blushed and hurried toward the library, keeping his eyes faced forward.

When Ethan entered the new library, he carefully scanned the small tables by the coffee shop, looking for a face he recognized. There was a smattering of people in here, sipping coffee and chatting or sitting alone with open books. Ethan singled out the dark-haired people, made sure none of them were Sacha, and then headed up a floor.

He found himself in a room full of small round tables and dead silence. He did a quick circle of the room, and then exited out the opposite side into a large, arcing chamber. A dozen long tables stood in rows almost as if they were in a chapel. Books lined the walls on each side and large windows flooded the whole room with light.

There were only a handful of people in here, and almost at once Ethan saw who he was looking for. Sacha had taken over almost half of one entire table, pens and papers strewn everywhere, a battered old laptop that looked to be held together almost completely by duct tape perched precariously on a couple of open books.

Ethan sucked in a breath and headed toward him, startling and hurrying to the other side of the room when Sacha slammed a book closed and pulled a pile of papers toward him, scribbling down a few notes. Ethan edged toward him, keeping one eye on the bookshelf and another on Sacha, who didn't seem to notice anything except the papers in front of him.

Just when Ethan had decided he needed to stop lurking and go talk to him, Sacha sighed and grabbed his computer, hauling it toward him. His fingers moved across the keys loudly, drawing a few looks from the other people in the room. Ethan glanced back at him just in time to watch him stop typing to flip off a guy who had turned to give him a dirty look. The other guy curled his lip and turned away again.

Ethan waited until Sacha went back to typing. Then he licked his lips, adjusted his shoulder bag, and walked up to him. For a few long seconds, Sacha didn't even notice his presence. Ethan glanced around and then cleared his throat.

Sacha still didn't look up. He continued to focus on his computer, tapping out what seemed to be a poorly-written term paper.

"Um," Ethan said, glancing around again. "It's—it's actually effects, not affects."

The typing stopped. Sacha looked up as though he had only just noticed Ethan was there. "What?"

"It's—it's effects. With an 'e.'" said Ethan, gesturing toward the computer screen.

_"What?"_

Ethan sat down in the chair next to Sacha, ignoring his scowl, and leaned closer to the computer. "You're talking about the effects of synaptic connections on behavioral output—effects in this case is a noun, so it's spelled with an—"

"Who the fuck are you?" Sacha said, voice frighteningly loud in the silent room.

"Oh, um, I'm Ethan," he said, holding out his hand. "I write articles for the paper."

Sacha looked down at the proffered hand and very pointedly did not shake it, just turned back to his computer. "Well, _Ethan_, you can fuck off. I'm busy."

Ethan wasn't sure how Sacha had managed to turn his name into something that sounded like a curse, but he didn't dwell on it for long. "I'm here to talk to you," he said.

Sacha didn't appear to hear him. Ethan watched over his shoulder as he continued pounding away at the paper. Ethan tamped down the urge to point out a few more grammatical errors, but instead just plowed forward. "For the school paper," he clarified. "I was wondering if I could interview you."

When Sacha continued to ignore him, Ethan took a breath and cast around for another topic. "So, um, you have a paper due soon?"

He watched Sacha square his jaw, gaze still averted. "For a friend," he said.

"Oh. That's—that's nice of you."

Sacha snorted, one side of his mouth twitching up. He barely glanced in Ethan's direction as he said, "It's a transaction. He gets a paper, I get a month's rent."

Ethan's stomach dropped. He could only assume that Simon hadn't known about _this_ particular side to Sacha when he had deemed him 'eligible.' "Right," he said, gripping the strap of his bag tightly with both hands. "So, um, about the interview—"

"Not gonna happen," Sacha said. He stopped typing to flip through a book to his left, then continued again. "So why don't you get lost, I don't have time for this shit."

"Right," Ethan said again. He could see now that Sacha definitely wasn't the type of candidate Simon had in mind. "Well…thanks anyway." He stood. Sacha had gone back to pretending he didn't exist.

Ethan made it as far as the door before he glanced back. Sacha was still typing, dark hair messy and tangled. His leg was bouncing up and down beneath the table, lips just barely moving as he read through what he had written.

Ethan knew before he had backtracked to return to Sacha's side that he would regret it, yet he couldn't stop himself.

"I'll go to the Dean."

Sacha immediately stopped what he was doing to look up at Ethan, dark eyes wide. Ethan felt a small surge of triumph that he had finally gotten his attention.

"Like fuck you will," Sacha said.

"You're helping someone plagiarize, and I'm a journalist. I take that very seriously."

He wasn't expecting it when Sacha suddenly stood, chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. Ethan could feel everyone in the room watching them.

"You won't go to the Dean," Sacha said.

"Not if you let me interview you."

For a protracted moment, Ethan was almost certain Sacha was going to hit him. He could feel himself tensing, ready to duck or take it, whichever he had time for. So when Sacha's hand suddenly flew up, Ethan cringed, badly, but Sacha didn't hit him.

Ethan looked down at large, rough hand that Sacha had extended toward him, and tentatively shook it.

"Deal," Sacha muttered, squeezing Ethan's hand as though he were trying to break his fingers.

Ethan kept a straight face, allowed Sacha to hang on for a few more seconds before Ethan tugged his hand out of his grip. Sacha smirked and sank back down into his seat.

"Can I have your number?" Ethan asked.

Sacha looked up at him as though Ethan had lost his mind. _"No."_

"For the interview," said Ethan. "Since you won't return my emails."

Sacha clenched his teeth again in a way that told Ethan that he had definitely gotten his emails. He tore the corner off a nearby piece of paper and scrawled a number for Ethan to inspect.

"Thanks," Ethan said, suddenly feeling shy again. "I'll—um, I'll call you."

"Fuck off," Sacha said again, and Ethan left.

He headed toward the exit again, pausing just inside the entrance to quickly get out his cell and call the number the number Sacha had given him. He held the phone up to his ear and listened to it ring. He glanced over his shoulder and watched as Sacha suddenly paused what he was doing and dug around in his pants, pulling out a scruffy cell phone. Ethan quickly disconnected the call and left the library, feeling equal parts giddy and terrified.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Quick note—sorry I didn't mention this before, but this story is going to switch between POVs (Sacha's and Ethan's to be specific). Just thought I should mention it since I know some people are turned off by that, but it's sort of necessary for the story and hopefully it won't be too jarring! :)

**IMPORTANT**: This story is going to permanently move to AO3 (link in my profile) after this chapter. And for future reference, everything else I write (save for the last few chapters of Perdition) will be over on AO3 as well. :)

-Em

Chapter Two

**Ethan**

The first three times Ethan called Sacha, he didn't pick up. Ethan wouldn't have taken it personally, except three calls meant three voicemails sitting in Sacha's inbox, and still he was ignoring him.

The fourth time, Ethan dialed the number without thinking about it; walking barefoot around his apartment trying to find Wolfe so he could give him a bath. He had just crouched down to peer into the dark space between the wall and the back of the couch when a voice on the other end of the line said, "Yeah, what?"

The shock of actually hearing Sacha's voice, along with the shock of Wolfe suddenly appearing from the darkness to streak past Ethan from behind the couch, made him jump and drop the phone.

"Oh no," he muttered, watching the tip of Wolfe's tail disappear around the corner toward the bedroom. Ethan was certain he had some sort of sixth-sense about bath time.

"_Hello?"_

Ethan stuck his arm behind the couch and grabbed at the phone again. "Hello, sorry," he said. "Sacha?"

"Who is this?"

"Hi, uh, this is Ethan."

"I'm not changing providers," Sacha said. "Don't call again."

"Wait!" said Ethan. "Wait, I'm not a telemarketer, I'm from The Daily."

From the other end of the line, Ethan could hear distant voices and the thumping beat of music, but Sacha was quiet.

"The school newspaper," Ethan clarified.

Still nothing.

"I, uh, talked to you last week?" he ventured.

He heard a sharp burst of female laughter on the other end of the line, but still Sacha didn't say anything.

"Um, about interviewing you?"

Sacha let out a sharp breath. "Yeah, I fucking remember," he snapped. _"What?"_

Ethan sank down onto the arm of the couch, rubbing his eyes. "I left you a few messages," he said. "I was hoping we could find a time to get together and talk."

"Look, man—"

"It's Ethan," he said, but Sacha appeared not to hear him.

"—I'm fucking busy, I don't have time for this. Just find someone else and leave me the fuck alone."

Ethan knew that was exactly what he should do. There were other people on that list; people Ethan hadn't even tried to contact. He couldn't satisfactorily explain to himself why he felt the need to pursue Sacha, especially when he was such a poor candidate for an article. Ethan had always felt the need to take the bumpiest road; he was never one to back down from a challenge, but this went deeper than that.

He swallowed and stood up, walking to the window to watch the gray night grow steadily darker. Sacha wasn't any ordinary challenge, Ethan had known that from the start, from the first time he had walked toward Ethan in the financial aid office, looking dark and fierce and broken.

Ethan sighed. "You don't have a choice."

The silence on the other end of the line was more pronounced now, the ambient noise muted and distant. Ethan waited, chewing on his lip, wondering if Sacha was going to hang up on him, or cuss him out.

Eventually Ethan heard a quiet word, maybe in English, maybe not. Then louder Sacha said, "Tomorrow. In front of the art building at three."

Ethan straightened, surprised. He just managed to say, "Yeah, OK, I'll—" before the line disconnected.

He slowly set his phone down on the windowsill, looking out over the rooftops across the alleyway. He rubbed a thumb across his lower lip, thinking, wondering if maybe he'd gone too far. Then Wolfe meowed from the bedroom, letting Ethan know that he was forgiven, and Ethan blinked, turning away from the dim light and the drizzle that was just beginning to fall.

#

Ethan was standing in front of the art building at 2:45 the next day, watching the slow lope of students across campus. It was a Saturday afternoon and mostly deserted, but a few people still wandered across the brick pathways, ducking their heads to avoid the overgrown trees in the quad.

At 2:55, Ethan caught sight of his reflection in one of the lower windows of the building. He brushed a piece of hair back from his forehead and pulled his shirt down a bit. He straightened his glasses—purely decorative, which Simon never failed to point out when he saw Ethan wearing them, but Ethan still thought they made him look more studious and collegiate.

He whirled around when a figure appeared behind him in the glass. He shouldn't have been surprised to see Sacha, considering that's who he was here to meet, but Ethan never really expected him to be on time. If he was being honest with himself, Ethan hadn't been entirely convinced Sacha would show up at all.

"Oh, hi!" Ethan said, smiling.

Sacha gave him a flat look, expression unchanged. "How long is this going to take?" he asked.

"Well, it's kind of a big article," Ethan hedged. Simon hadn't given him many parameters outside of "make it detailed and make it good," so Ethan was interpreting that to mean long and personal.

"It's important for the school," he continued, "so we can get funding."

Sacha's eyes narrowed, eyebrows drawing in. "Why the fuck would an article about me get more funding for the school?"

"Well, not specifically about you," Ethan said. "Er, well, _yes_, this article is about you, but it didn't _have_ to be you—we wanted to interview someone with a more…unique background."

Sacha blinked quickly, lips thinning. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he said. "All this fucking harassment and bullshit and you don't even _need_ me?"

Ethan frowned faintly, scuffing his shoe against the dirty pavement. "I didn't harass you," he muttered.

He didn't see it coming when Sacha grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him up against the front of the building. Ethan's hands flew up to grab at Sacha's arms and try to push him away, but the muscles under his hands were tight and solid; unrelenting.

"Yes, you fucking _did_!" Sacha said.

A passing girl looked up in alarm at Sacha's shout, taking in the two of them and coming to a halt. Sacha glanced toward her over his shoulder, jaw clenching. "Keep walking."

The girl glared at him but didn't move. Sacha released his grip on Ethan's collar to grip him by the sleeve instead and pull him into the building. He led them into an empty classroom and released Ethan to collarpse into one of the small individual desks; legs sprawled out in front of him and hands clenching the desktop. His knuckles were swollen and bruised.

"I'm sorry I upset you," Ethan said, setting his bag on the floor and taking a tentative seat next to Sacha.

"You didn't fucking _upset me_," Sacha snapped. "You pissed me the fuck off and annoyed the shit out of me."

Ethan blinked. "Right. Well, anyway, that wasn't my intention. I just really wanted to interview you."

Sacha was quiet for a long time, eyes burning a hole in the floor as he sat and glared.

"If it helps," Ethan said, "we could meet a few times over the week, then each session would only have to be about half an hour."

"Fucking fine," Sacha said, eyes meeting Ethan's, cold fury practically emanating from him. "Let's just get this over with."

Ethan quickly unpacked his digital recorder, along with a pen and pad of paper. He turned on the recorder and looked over the questions he had compiled.

"All right, good," Ethan said. "Let's get started. Um, just for the record, I have your permission to record this conversation and write about your life and personal experiences?"

Sacha's scowl deepened. "Why—"

"We just need to record you agreeing," Ethan said. "Just for our records."

"Are you going to ask me whether or not I'm being blackmailed?" He picked up the recorder just before Ethan lunged for it, and brought it up to his mouth. "Because the answer is yes."

Ethan jumped out of his desk and wrenched the recorder out of Sacha's grasp, pressing erase before doing anything else. Sacha was smirking at him when Ethan took his seat again.

"Are we going to do this or not?" he asked. "I'll go to the Dean right now if that's what you want."

Sacha leaned forward in his seat, eyes black and glittering. "If you want to live with the guilt of making me lose my scholarship and getting kicked out of school," he said. He leaned back again, smirk returning. "But honestly, _Ethan,_ I don't think you have the balls."

Ethan held Sacha's gaze for a long moment. Then he carefully took out his phone, and flipped through his contacts. He called his father's office number and put the phone on speaker, setting it on the desk.

A woman's voice answered after two rings; chipper and personable. "Office of the Dean, Elsa speaking. How may I help you?"

"Hi, Elsa, this is Ethan," he said. "I was hoping—"

"Oh, Ethan, dear!" Elsa tittered. "So good to hear from you; of course, I'll patch you right through to the Dean."

Sacha's eyes were transfixed on the phone, expression almost comically incredulous. When Ethan's father came over the line and started to speak, Sacha took the phone and disconnected the call. In the silence afterward, Sacha stared blankly down at the desk, jaw squared.

Ethan let the silence go on for a good twenty seconds before he set the recorder back on the desk and pressed record. "So," he said, "shall we try again?"

Sacha looked up. "You must be pretty important around here if you're such good friends with the Dean." His tone was littered heavily with disdain.

Ethan opened his mouth, surprised that Sacha didn't realize, didn't already know that he was the Dean's son. The words were right on the tip of his tongue, the truth about to spill over. Instead, what came out was, "Yes." He blinked and picked up his pen. "So, do I have your permission to record this conversation and write about your personal experiences?"

Their eyes met, Sacha still pissed and, Ethan suspected, ready to make this difficult for him. Thankfully though, something in his expression had softened, some part of his resistance broken down. Ethan wasn't quite sure if he should be proud or ashamed.

Still, when Sacha said, "Yes," Ethan felt a surge of victory.

"Good," Ethan said. "So, first question: Where are you from?"

"The Colonies," Sacha said. "Colony five."

Ethan nodded—jotted that down on his pad of paper for future research. "Do you like it there?"

Ethan looked up when Sacha took his time answering, saw that he had his arms crossed tight over his chest and was staring off to his left, toward the white expanse of wall used for projecting slideshows.

"Sacha?" Ethan prompted.

Sacha's gaze never wavered from the wall as he said, "No."

Ethan's eyebrows rose. Based on his reluctance to speak, Ethan hadn't really expected any honesty. "Why not?" Ethan asked, pen hovering above the paper. "What's it like?"

Sacha slowly turned to meet his gaze. "Dark," he said, "and dirty."

When Ethan just continued to watch him, silently asking for more information, Sacha sighed and rolled his eyes, uncrossing his arms to lean them against the desktop again.

"There aren't a lot of jobs out there," he said, "and even less that pay worth a damn."

"It's dark, you said?"

"Yeah," Sacha said. "Five's on a planet a couple AU from its sun."

"Isn't it cold?" Ethan asked. "Like…Uranus or Neptune?"

Sacha had taken to looking at the wall again. "False atmosphere," he said. "Doesn't help with the dark, though."

"Right." Ethan jotted that down. "What was it like growing up there?"

"Why the fuck do you want to know about this?" Sacha asked, leg bouncing beneath the desk. "This is for the school isn't it, why don't you ask me about my goddamn classes then?"

"I was going to," Ethan said, "I just thought—"

"Then get on with it, go on."

Ethan frowned and scribbled something else down on his paper, moving on to questions about Sacha's major. These he answered more easily, and after twenty-five minutes when Sacha suddenly stood and said, "Same time, same place, tomorrow," Ethan watched him leave.

Then Ethan packed up his things, had just begun to close his notebook when he caught sight of the note that he made about The Colonies. He paused, staring at the hasty mark he had written when it was clear he had struck a nerve, when it was clear that Sacha's home was the real story here, the most interesting piece of the puzzle: _Keep asking_.

So he kept asking. He asked Monday after class, when they met again, and received nothing but a stony silence in return. He asked Wednesday, ten minutes into their talk, and Sacha had picked up his bag and left. On Friday, when he asked one last time, certain that he would have to find someone else willing to talk about The Colonies, or write an article not worth the time or money spent on printing it, Sacha finally snapped.

"What the fuck do you want me to say?" he asked, voice low. He leaned toward Ethan, lips pulled back. "That it's a shitole? Because it is. You want me to tell you how fucking happy I am to be away from there? How fucking lucky I got that I was smart enough to earn a trip here instead?"

Ethan opened his mouth, but Sacha reached up and gripped his chin to keep him in place. "No, you want me to talk so fucking bad, here it is: Where the hell do you get off asking me about all this shit, huh? You don't know the first fucking thing about The Colonies, about being poor and hungry, and needing shit you don't have a hope of getting.

"The only reason I'm here is because this pretentious fucking school needs to pretend that they're God's gift to us poor bastards hundreds of AUs away, and don't think for a goddamn _second_ that I don't know that."

Ethan blinked fast, reached a hand up to carefully close around Sacha's wrist and draw it away from his face. Sacha's eyes were fixed on Ethan's, his breathing rapid, nostrils flared.

"You're right," Ethan said quietly. "You're right, I don't understand. I'm sorry…I didn't mean to make you angry." His eyes flicked down, realizing that his hand was still on Sacha's arm, skin at the inside of his wrist warm and thin beneath Ethan's fingers.

"But maybe," Ethan continued, eyes rising to meet Sacha's gaze again. "Maybe it would help…if you—if you talked about it."

Sacha didn't say anything, breathing beginning to slow, eyes still wide. Ethan wasn't even sure if Sacha heard him, if he even knew Ethan was speaking. But then Ethan licked his lips, nervous, and Sacha's gaze glanced down to follow the movement.

"Sacha," Ethan whispered, just to hear it, just to feel the name on his lips. He could feel Sacha's heartbeat in his wrist, thought maybe it was faster than a moment ago, the skin perhaps a bit warmer.

Ethan was leaning forward before he'd even thought about it, could have counted each of Sacha's dark eyelashes in the moment before his eyes fluttered shut. Warm breath against his mouth, and then he was pushing forward even more, neck craning, lips brushing against Sacha's. Ethan hesitated then, their breath mingling. He could feel Sacha tensing beneath him, thought he knew what was coming even as the pulse at his fingertips began to race. He pressed forward further, mouth crushing against Sacha's, just managed to suck a seal around his lower lip and tug when Sacha reared back.

Ethan tightened his grip on Sacha's wrist, hoping that would keep him in place, knowing it wouldn't, and fell back in his seat as Sacha wrenched free and jumped up from his desk.

"What the _fuck_?" he said, snatching up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulders.

"Wait, Sacha, I'm sorry," Ethan mumbled, face burning, no idea why he had done something so idiotic.

"I'm sorry," he said again as Sacha headed for the door. Ethan was just behind him, belongings abandoned as he trailed behind him into the hallway. "That was unprofessional, I'm sorry, please, it won't happen again, we just really need to finish—"

Sacha whirled around, throwing an arm out to shove Ethan a few steps back. "We're done," he said, two spots of color high on his cheeks. "_Done_. I don't want you anywhere near me."

"Sacha—"

"Fuck off," he said, clearly enunciating every syllable.

Ethan swallowed, held Sacha's gaze for a tense moment, then watched him turn and hurry off again, leaving Ethan alone and humiliated.

#

"So are you going to tell me what happened?"

Ethan groaned and shook his head, downing the shot that Simon had ordered for him as well as the one that Simon had ordered for himself. Simon raised his eyebrows, turning his head to look at the dance floor, neck shimmering in the pulsing lights of the dance club.

"I'm so stupid," Ethan said, raising his voice to be heard over the deep bass pumping through the speakers. He reached a hand up to rub his eyes and encountered his stupid fake glasses instead. "God and now I have to start all over with the article."

"You what?" Simon asked, leaning in. "Why? Ethan, come on, what happened?"

Ethan looked up just in time to watch a figure press against Simon's back. Simon stiffened, glare in place as he turned to glance over his shoulder. He relaxed when he saw it was James, tilting his head back to be kissed.

Ethan just groaned again and rapped his knuckles on the bar to the get bartender's attention.

"What's eating your ass?" James asked, shooting Ethan a wary look.

"I came onto Sacha when I went to interview him today," he said, taking the next shot the bartender passed to him and downing it in one, eyes pricking with tears.

Simon said, "You _what_?" at the same moment James shouted, "_Sacha_?"

"Yes and yes," Ethan said. "I am…such an idiot."

"_Sacha_," James said again.

"You know him?" Ethan asked, cradling his head in his hands.

James snorted, scooting down the bar to make room for more people clamoring for a drink. "Yeah, I know him. Few years behind me in school, the little shit. Surprised you still have all your teeth."

"What exactly did you do?" Simon asked, face in business-mode. "Is he going to press charges?"

"No, Simon, God," Ethan said. Then he sat up, staring blankly at the lines of bottles behind the bar. "Oh my God he's going to press charges."

James laughed again, getting his hands on a beer and drinking deep. "He's not going to press charges. Kids from The Colonies don't trust the cops," he said. "If anything he's just gonna beat the shit out of you."

Ethan rubbed a hand through his hair, moved toward Simon when he felt someone come up close behind him. The presence at his back didn't decrease though, the person not even trying to get to the bar. That's when Ethan felt a hand on his thigh.

He looked down at the pale hand resting on the black of his pants and then followed a thin arm all the way up to see a small, smirking face looking up at him.

"Uh, can I help you?" Ethan asked.

The guy just smiled, cocked his head to one side so the fall of his hair exposed both clear eyes. Then he took Ethan's arm gently and tugged him toward the dance floor. Ethan glanced back at James and Simon, both of whom looked surprised but amused as Ethan was dragged away.

The guy led him to the edge of the dance floor, turning and setting his hands on Ethan's hips, pulling them together.

"Whoa, hey," Ethan said, hesitantly putting his arms around the guy's shoulders.

The other smiled, colored lights glinting off the whites of his teeth and making them glow for a short moment.

"What's your name?" Ethan shouted.

A pale hand snuck up to the back of Ethan's neck, gripping his hair and pulling him down.

"Aleks."

"Ethan," he said, nose against Aleks' throat. He turned his face just a bit, just to see if Aleks would allow him what Sacha hadn't, and grazed his lips against a spot just beneath Aleks' ear.

Aleks made a small noise, and they were pressed so tightly together that Ethan could feel him harden just a little against Ethan's thigh.

Aleks shifted his hips, pulled Ethan along with him, moving them to the beat of the bass. Ethan hardly noticed, simply let himself be led as he opened his mouth against Aleks' neck, trailing kisses down to his shoulder.

The noise Aleks made them was louder than the first, more desperate, and his hips took on a more primal edge, less moving to the music, more grinding against Ethan's thigh.

"Come on," he said, and suddenly Ethan was being led through the crowd, Aleks' hand hot on his arm.

Aleks pulled him into the bathroom, kicking open an empty stall and then shoving Ethan back against the door to hold it closed. Then Aleks was up against him, hot and sticky, lips meeting Ethan's and tongue pushing past his lips.

Ethan gasped, fingers scrabbling at Aleks' sides before finally settling on his ass and pulling them harder together. Aleks groaned into Ethan's mouth, ran both hands into his hair and gathered at the nape, opening his mouth wider over Ethan's, hips moving frantically against his thigh.

Ethan turned his face away to suck in a few deep breaths, surprised when Aleks pushed Ethan's hands away from his ass. Understood when hands fumbled with Ethan's fly, Aleks on his knees in front of him.

"I've never—" Ethan swallowed. He could hear other couples in the stalls around him, only partially drowned out by the sound of the music.

Aleks smiled and kissed the slope of Ethan's hip, hand already working at his cock, and God, Ethan was hard already, harder than he could ever remember being, just looking at Aleks kneeling in front of him on the filthy linoleum floor.

Then Aleks' tongue was flicking out to lick the head, pink tip rolling against the slit. Ethan had to drop his head back against the door to keep from coming just from that. Aleks leaned back to blow a cool breath against the head. Ethan moaned and shifted his hips, and that was all it took for Aleks' mouth to return, suck tight around the head and sink down to the base.

The breath froze in Ethan's lungs, stomach quivering as he looked down to watch Aleks pull off and then almost at once bear down again.

"_Oh_," Ethan said, pushing his hands into the sleek black hair. "Oh, Aleks…."

Aleks hummed, pulling up to nurse the tip again, tongue tracing little circles around the nerves at the base of the head. Then he sank all the way down, one hand lifting to roll Ethan's balls in his hand, mouth tightening, unbearably hot and sleek.

"Aleks—Aleks, I'm—"

Aleks just closed his eyes, hand tightening a bit on Ethan's balls and pulling them away from his body. Then Ethan was coming, and Aleks was swallowing hard and fast around him, finally pulling away with a slow lick across the over-sensitized nerves at the head.

Ethan shivered as Aleks stood and crushed Ethan against the door again. He pulled Ethan down, kissing him hard, transferring the bitter taste of himself to Ethan's mouth.

Aleks was still hard against his thigh, rocking slowly against him. Ethan reached down, undid the button to Aleks' pants and slipped a hand inside before he could talk himself out of it. The noise Aleks made into his mouth and the way he leaned up into Ethan's grip around his cock immediately alleviated any doubts he might have had.

It didn't take much, Aleks leaking so much already that Ethan's hand slid fast and easy up and down. He rubbed his palm over the tip, rolled his tongue against Aleks'. Then Aleks shuddered and pulled away, leaning his forehead against Ethan's shoulder and filling Ethan's hand. He fell boneless against Ethan's front afterwards, pressing kisses along Ethan's throat and tucking himself back into his pants.

He reached back and handed Ethan a wad of toilet paper, giving him one last kiss and a quick smile before he slid out of the stall. Ethan watched him go, head lolling against the wall, breath still coming fast. He wiped off his hand and flushed the toilet paper away, leaving the stall just a moment before two other men stumbled into it.

Ethan exited onto the dance floor, didn't stick around long enough to look for James or Simon. He left the club through the back door instead, only getting as far as the dumpster before he had to stop. He leaned back against the brick wall, air icy cold against his skin.

"Jesus Christ," Ethan said, all of it hitting him at once, how fucking dumb he'd been, how he had hooked up with a guy he'd known for all of ten minutes just because he'd been rejected earlier that day.

"God damn it." He ran a hand over his face, rubbing at the headache that was already beginning at his temples. He leaned his head back to look at the smattering of stars in the sky, listening to the faint thumping drum beat from inside.

Ethan headed back to his apartment, trying to forget Aleks' black hair and wicked smile, and how much he reminded Ethan of someone else.


End file.
